


Friday On My Mind

by scumfuck (orphan_account)



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: High School AU, M/M, Reddie, chaptered fic, homophobic slurs tho, hopefully!, please be careful! stupid teenagers i hate them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 17:09:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/scumfuck
Summary: "Ah, then we shall rule the school together, Eds," he chuckled and spread his hands in the air, imagining a banner, "The Stoner and The Flamer. Prom kings."





	1. bus ridez

**Author's Note:**

> idk if i'm gonna continue this, let me know if you'd like to see it. it might be chaptered (??)

**Richie**

He really fucking hated the bus sometimes. No, all the time. Surprisingly, the Misfits weren't loud enough to drown out morons yelling from the back of the bus. There wasn't a day where they weren't arguing about stupid shit. Like, who cared anyway? 

"Bro, I'm telling you, anyone who still listens to Michael Jackson, in this day and age, has got to be a fucking idiot." 

Richie closed his eyes and rolled them to the back of his head. 

"What do you know, dicklick?" someone else yelled. Adderall wasn't enough to keep Richie focused on his music. Or keep his eyes closed for too long. 

When he opened them, there were people in the isle of the bus, filling in seats. There were still ten minutes til they had to be at school. God, it was going to be a long ride. 

Everyone had situated into their seats comfortably, loudly. Spare one kid. 

  
"Psst. _Psst_!" Richie whispered, his eyes tilted to the side so he was sure no one knew he was talking. The bus was loud and bustling, and what looked like a stupid freshman was standing in the isle. God, he was making a scene. They were going to eat him alive. "Kid, just sit here."

  
Quite literally every other seat was taken. Obnoxious high schoolers from his neighborhood had absolutely no mercy on new faces, he thought. When he glanced over, the kid's ears were bright red.

"Hey," a girl named Greta called out to him. "Hey, cutie!" She wore the voice she  used to lead guys on. Richie knew that one. 

"Greta, fuck off! He's mine!" A guy chimed in. The rest of his friends snickered and sneered, Richie could feel them. Oh, my god. 

  
"Jesus fucking Christ," Richie cursed. "Just sit down!"

  
After a minute, he reluctantly sat on the edge of the fake leather seat next to Richie.

  
"Tozier!" Richie rolled his eyes before sitting up straight, his torso long enough to look over the boy next to him and over at who was calling him.

  
"Whaddya want?" He yelled back at some kid named Timothy. He was a jock, all square shoulders and a toe shaped head.

  
"Don't sit too close to him! Heard he likes it up the ass!" His hands were cupped over his mouth, and Richie thought for a second that the whole bus stopped talking to listen. The boy next to him stiffened straight up, and Richie just looked down at him. He rolled his eyes at the group of blockheads and turned back to face forwards.

  
He pressed his headphones into his ears harder, praying maybe they'd block out some noise. The kid next to him didn't move. He might have not even been breathing. Creep.

* * *

 

The kid was there again on the way home from school. Richie had actually seen him in a few of his classes, in Calculus, English, and even in his Phys. Ed. Apparently he was a Junior. Real shocker, actually. He had to be a head shorter than him, and he had a baby face.

  
He didn't say anything to him, but when he saw Richie coming down the isle, he stood up timidly and let Richie have the window seat.

  
His name was Eddie. He'd heard it floating around by second period, for God's sake. The whole grade must know his name.

  
He didn't have any friends. Not from what Richie could see, anyway. He tried not to care. He didn't care. He really didn't.

  
"You like the Furs?" Richie blurted. He hadn't even noticed he was staring at the boy's binder for that long. His attention span kept winding in and out of his control.

  
Eddie looked up at him with terrified eyes. Geez, was he that intimidating? Richie pointed to the inked lyrics on the outside of his folder.

  
'Love My Way,' written in neat black letters. Fitting, Richie thought.

  
"I- um," Eddie stared at the words, running his fingers over the indented letters. "Honestly? I haven't really ... listened to them too much."

  
Richie raised his eyebrows. "The Psychedelic Furs?"

  
He shrugged and looked forward. "I don't listen to a lot of music."

  
Richie's thoughts cut off- that was so fucking weird, right? He couldn't just, not listen to music. What kind of teenager was he?

  
"O-kay then."

  
The bus halted, right at Richie's stop, and he stood up abruptly. He rapped his fingers over the part of the seat right beside Eddie's head, waiting for the isle to clear out for his street.

  
Then he left. When he exited, he saw through the window that Eddie had moved closer to the glass. He was looking down at his lap. Probably at his folder.

  
Richie willed himself not to care as he entered his house. He kicked off his Converse and hummed the lyrics to Love My Way under his breath.

**Eddie**

  
Fuck him. Fuck all of them. Eddie didn't have the energy for this. No, he did, but he didn't have the brain capacity for such a high level of stupidity at one time.  
Eddie didn't even know his name, but he knew he wanted to kill him. He was annoying. He hadn't done anything to him personally, per say. He had given up his seat. That was nice.

  
But his face annoyed him. His hair went everywhere. It consisted of dark brown, maybe black, curls that fell over his forehead and behind his ears. He had a slender nose, kinda, and a giant pair of glasses were perched on the bridge. They magnified his eyes obnoxiously. And his lips were chapped. That had to be one of Eddie's biggest pet peeves. He considered bringing a tub of Vaseline into the bus the next morning just to get back at him.

  
Also, his leg bounced. And his fingers tapped on everything. It wasn't even a rhythm, just _taptaptaptaptaptap_. It made Eddie anxious.

  
At least, his conscious told him, he didn't say anything about the gay rumors. But it felt like he sat closer to the wall at the end of the day. 

  
It was kind of awkward when he spoke. He had a loud voice, even when he was whispering. Annoying. Ear-ringing.

  
"Eddie-bear, how was your first day at school, sweets?" His mother sat in front of the television, flipping through a Better Homes magazine with manicured hands.

  
"Fine." It was a little less than fine. An obvious 'We could have stayed in our old town, because Derry makes me want to actually consider being a pyromaniac, but it's Fine'.

  
"Good," she cooed. She clearly knew nothing about a teenager's tone of voice.  
On Eddie's way to his room, he passed the bookshelf that held all of his dad's old records. He never took the time to sift through them after he died. Eddie would, he really would, but sometimes it made him sick thinking about his father. 

  
He passed them anyway. He could replay the same David Bowie song in his head if he needed to listen to music. Whatever.

 

 


	2. running

**Richie**

  
Stan had cornered him the next day. Not really cornered, because he had just came up to him at his locker, but he never did that.

  
"What's his last name?" He asked calmly.  
Richie had to remember. "Kaspbrak? I think? I don't fuckin' know, Stan." He shut his locker and glanced around the hallway.

  
"Have you... spoken to him yet?" Stan always thought about what he said before he spoke. It differed from Richie's blurts and random conversation starters.

  
"Yeah, Stan, I'm not socially inept." Stan gave him a flat look as they continued down the hallway. "He's weird."

  
Stan fiddled with the straps of his gym bag. "How so?"

  
"He doesn't listen to music. It's weird."

  
"Wow, you might as well fuckin' lynch him for witchcraft," Stan deadpanned. Bill joined them on their way to Phys. Ed.

  
"Are y-you talking ab-bout the new-new kid?" He asked. Richie clasped a hand on his shoulder and sighed thoughtfully.

  
"That we are, Billy." 

  
"He's n-nuh-nice."

  
Stan looked at him sideways and Richie could hear him thinking. But he didn't know what it could have been about. Stan needed enough context to make an opinion on someone. He picked people apart meticulously, like they were frogs in a science lab, and thought about everything they did carefully. 

  
The boy's locker room smelled like disgusting body spray and feet. And it was hot, too, like someone cranked the heat to a sauna. Richie felt like he was going to melt.

  
Locker room talk made Rich want to barf. It was either about objectifying hot girls with sizeable tits, or making fun of the minorities. Richie hoped it wasn't him today.

  
It wasn't him. It wasn't Bill or Stan, either. It wasn't the black kid, or the fat kid, either. It was the gay kid.  
Something about hearing 'fag' thrown around like they were on the border to Mississippi made his stomach heat angrily. 

  
"I feel bad for the kid who's gotta sit next to him. Who's it again?" Richie closed his eyes. He pleaded to the sky that they'd go away as he pulled on the school's gym shorts.

  
"Hey, speak of the devil!" Richie stood straight up and hopped over a bench, content to leave and do a lap, or something. If he kept his head down, maybe they wouldn't see him. "Eddie _The Flamer_ Kaspbrak."

  
His neck shot up and he whipped his head around so quickly he got whiplash. And there he was, Eddie, all 65 inches, at the door of the locker room. He had on tall white socks with tiny red stripes that coordinated with his shorts.

  
Holy shit, his shorts. They were short.  
He couldn't even hear the snickers, or feel the tug of Stan on his arm. All he could do was stare at the pale, exposed thighs of the short boy halfway across the locker room.

  
Bill stood in front of him. "Let's g-go, Rich. The show's oh-over." He had an almost angry expression on his face, which was weird coming from Bill Denbrough.

  
They started running on the field, and Stan kept muttering under his breath. "Geez, Tozier, you're so obvious. And rude. You're rude."

  
"What the fuck, Staniel? How the fuck was I being rude?" Richie shot him a look.

  
"You were staring, Richie," he maintained a calm demeanor. Richie hated that. "Staring is rude. Has old Wentworth taught you nothing?"

  
Richie was riled. "Well, Stanny, if Wentworth taught me anything, it's that it's fucking normal to stare at virtually anyone's ass if they're wearing short shorts!" He said a little too loud.

  
"Your ff-father sounds like the r-real flamer here," Bill commented.

  
Richie punched him lightly in the arm, laughing it off. Stan elbowed him when he got back into pace, and gave him a look. Ahead of them was Eddie, surprisingly running faster than the three of them. Richie thought about how he managed to escape the idiots in the locker room. Must've taken a lot of courage, especially for the new kid.

  
"Hey!" Richie called without thinking. Stan turned to him with wide eyes. "Hey!"

  
Eddie was ignoring him, so he gave one last look to Stan before shrugging and catching up with the short boy ahead of them. "Been listening to Richard Butler lately?" He asked too close to his ear. The other boy jumped and squeaked, close to shrieking, before giving Richie an angry look.

  
"No, I haven't," he said with a side-eye. "I don't think you're very funny."

  
Richie wanted to comment on it, wanted to keep a little joke between them, but decided maybe it was too soon to make gay jokes about a band's frontman in front of a gay kid. He changed the subject.

  
"Can't believe you're able to surpass Marshall and his army of toes," he sneered. Eddie glared, but not directly at him. He picked up the pace of his feet and clenched his fists a little tighter. They were starting to sweat.

  
"Yeah, well. It's not hard to outsmart them."

  
"Believe me, I know," Richie snickered. Eddie turned to him. His cheeks were tinted pink from embarrassment, and Richie noticed freckles that dusted over them. They were close together on his nose.

  
"You do, yeah? Shocker. You look like a stoner," he eyed Richie's rat nest of a head of curls and scrunched his nose. Richie laughed out loud, and the other looked irritated at the sound.

  
"Ah, then we shall rule the school together, Eds," he chuckled and spread his hands in the air, imagining a banner, " _The Stoner and The Flamer._ Prom kings."

  
Eddie punched his bicep and ran quicker, finishing their last lap for them. Richie slowed down and watched him run away, somewhere in between a smile and smirk on his face. He turned to see Bill and Stan with stunned expressions on their faces.

"Well, boys, he's somethin' else," Richie sighed.

"Wuh-was he nice?" 

Richie laughed. "He called me a stoner, so I think we're getting somewhere." 

"Huh." Stan blinked, staring at Richie. 

"Y-you should invite h-him to our luh-lunch table," Bill suggested, his eyes casting downwards. 

Richie was about to smile and agree when coach blew his whistle, calling everyone to pick teams. 

Eddie stood the odd one out, and when he caught Richie's eye, he winked. Richie only blinked back. 

 


	3. bowie isn't cool

**Eddie**

"Wait wait wait, you're telling me he _actually_ fucked the lunch lady to get more fries?" Richie's eyebrows were raised and he had a laugh on his lips. Eddie nodded sheepishly, thinking back on the memory from his old school. 

"She gave him apple juice 'stead of milk, too." 

Richie chuckled, his foot tapping on the floor of the bus. His jeans were ripped and Eddie stared at them. "God, that's genius. I should try that." 

Eddie smiled and looked away. He never wanted conversations with Richie to last too long. He didn't really want conversations with Richie in the first place. He just needed a bus seat.

"What school did you come from again?" Richie asked. Too personal, Eddie thought. 

He didn't even turn around. "Not telling you." 

A dissatisfied grump. The boy next to him hung his head back, looking at the ceiling. Eddie glanced at his neck in the corner of his eye. 

It was kind of long. Richie was long. He had a long neck and long legs and long arms. Kinda gross when Eddie thought about it in a certain way. It's like they were noodles or something. 

He straightened up again and turned back to Eddie. "Well, if this means anything, one time I told Bill's mom it was Spirit Week, and she made him come to school with the stupidest costumes on for the pep rally," he said, then laughed at the memory. 

Eddie remembered Bill. He was tall and handsome, and really nice. He was in his English class, too. He came up to Eddie to welcome him, before some girl pulled him away. 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah. I think Stan threatened to kill me if I ever thought about doing something like that to him." 

Eddie hadn't heard of Stan yet. He felt a little self conscious that Richie knew these people, but he didn't. 

They pulled up to the school too quick for Eddie to reply. But unlike the last time, Richie stayed by his side as they walked to the lockers. He hadn't thought about how close Richie's locker was to his, really, or where they had gone the previous days. 

"Hey," Richie talked in a low voice. "I'll see you in third period. Okay?" Richie looked down at him with a soft expression. His windbreaker was open, and he wore a fitted white t-shirt under it. Something about it made Eddie want to touch his chest. 

"Yeah. Third period." 

Eddie opened his locker with some difficulty. It really didn't feel like October yet. So many weeks had passed since he first met Richie, yet they had only spoken a few times.

He grabbed his textbook and shut his locker, promptly walking to first period. 

**Richie**

"Rich!"

It was a high voice. That was different. High voices never called his name, and especially not from girls.

He turned to be greeted with a spunky redhead. "Hi Beverly," he smiled. 

"Hey, listen. My aunt's out for the weekend, and she's letting me have some people over." 

That meant weed. Richie grinned. _Fuck yeah_. "I'll be there. Friday?" 

She nodded brushing a red curl out of her freckled face. "Bring a friend. Or two." She shrugged. "See you there!" 

Then she moved to another group of friends down the hallway. Richie smiled to himself. He hadn't smoked in a while. Since summer, when he had time and money from working at the snack shack next to the baseball field. 

He idly wondered if Eddie smoked. Of course he didn't, but he thought about him calling Richie a stoner weeks before.

Eddie didn't say anything to him on the bus. He didn't wanna say anything either. So he listened to The Cure instead.  

* * *

When he got home that night, his mom was in dirty clothes. She hadn't moved from the couch in a day; Richie didn't care, really. She cried a lot in the middle of the night, which kept him up, and he always wished his dad would get off his lazy ass and talk to her. Fix their marriage. Or something. 

"How was your day?" She asked when she saw her son in the doorway. He shrugged off his windbreaker. 

"Good. I'm going to a party Friday night," he chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

"Good for you!" She said, and laid on her side. "Kathy said she wanted me to take the night shift that day, so I won't be here either. Free chance for you to bring a girl home." 

Richie laughed a bit before walking past her and going to his room. 

He stared at the Metallica poster on his wall and kicked his shoes off. His records were in a pile on the floor. He picked up a spare piece of paper and a broken pencil and wrote down every single song he could think of off the top of his head. Literally, every song. The list traveled down the page, stopping when he ran out of room. 

Eddie wouldn't like The Clash, probably. He crossed that one off. Ramones? Solid maybe. Definite yes for Queen. He wasn't really sure why he was thinking of Eddie until the idea came over him that he should make a mixtape for him. God, mixtapes were so 80s. 

It bothered him that Eddie was on his mind, when that same Eddie hasn't said a word to him since that morning. 

He made the tape anyways. On the little white strip he wrote "Tunes 4 The Dumbass". Then he smiled. 

**Eddie**

He placed something in his lap when he sat down the next morning. At first, he thought it was a pack of cigarettes, but when he looked down, it was a tape. He held it in his hands, his fingers running over the back. He read the title and glanced up at Richie. 

"Music. For you. You really needed it," he mumbled with a smile. Eddie felt a blush creep up his neck.  

"Thank you," he murmured. He looked away from Richie and down at the tape.

"Yep. You wanna listen to it now?" He didn't even wait for an answer as he reached into his backpack and took out his Walkman and headphones. 

The first song that came on was David Bowie.

"Friday On My Mind," Eddie muttered. "PinUps. That's my favorite album. How did you know that?" Eddie thought back to his dad's records. 

Richie shrugged and made an _I dunno_ sound. "Just seem like a Bowie person." Eddie was sure that was the best thing anyone's called him at this school.

"Mick Ronson plays the guitar," Eddie said then. He smiled to himself at remembering that. 

"Yeah, he's so fucking good, man." 

"Mmm..." 

He felt Richie grin down at him, even though his eyes were closed. He could feel his leg bouncing again, but ignored it, even though it didn't go along with the music's beat. 

* * *

 

After school, right before the bus stopped for Richie, he grabbed Eddie's arm. "Beverly Marsh is having a party tomorrow night. I want you to come. You need to come. She said I could bring a friend." The word rolled so easily off Richie's tongue, but left Eddie staring wide up at him.

He laughed then, and Eddie felt it on his face. It made him blink. "Um. Yeah," Eddie slowly answered. "I'll... I'll have to ask my mom." 

Another loud laugh emitted from the boy's mouth. "You do that." Then he passed him skinny legs clambering into the isle. He bent down and tapped on Eddie's folder before walking away. 

When Eddie looked down, he saw that Richie had scribbled a note to him. 

_I'll pick you up at 8, flamer_

_Love,_

_Stoner_

In Richie's empty seat sat the half-listened-to mixtape, his name clearly written on it. 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
